Spread your wings - Phan
by isthisjustphantasy
Summary: Danisnotonfire and amazingphil -AU: Dan has a dangerous past that he neglected for too long, it's time to go back and finish what he started. But will Phil be left behind that easily? And can their love last, even when all else is lost? Sorry if i take a while to upload but here's my first proper story with a plot and everything woo please review because I've no idea what i'm doin
1. Chapter 1

**Spread your wings**

Phil's low blow caught Dan off guard; hitting him on the leg and making him buckle at the knees – stumbling forwards to regain his balance. Dan swung round instantly with a cry, raising his arms above his head to bring down a blow with full force across Phil's shoulders. This was too much for the battered pillow and it burst on impact – filling the room with swirling feathers that cascaded down through peals of breathless laughter. Dan collapsed on the bed panting. "Well shit." He giggled.

Phil fell with a thump across Dan's body, face flushed with happiness and exertion.

"Jesus Christ Phil get your elbow out of my stomach!" Dan gasped, wincing.

"Sorry!" Phil grinned, rolling over so just his head rested on Dan's chest.

A white feather floated slowly down to land on Phil's nose and Dan grinned, reaching forwards to brush it away, letting his fingers linger in Phil's soft hair. "You're cleaning up."

"What?!" Spluttered Phil. "_You_ bust the pillow!"

"Yeah, but it was _your_ idea."

"Hey. You hit me first. You're cleaning up. I'll um... go cook some dinner!"

Phil wriggled out of Dan's arms, hopping off the bed and out the door giggling – leaving Dan stranded in the sea of white. He cursed under his breath as he heaved himself upright with a heavy sigh and surveyed the damage. "Shit."

The room looked as though it had been coated in a fine layer of snow, white and pale grey feathers nestling into every crevice and covering every surface. A few still floating serenely through the air. The offending pillow case lay deflated on the floor, crumpled and dejected. Dan fell backwards heavily and rolled over to lie face down in the feathers with a groan. "Shit."

* * *

Phil snickered at Dan's face as he brushed past him in the hall. "You know, I think using the hoover might just be quicker?"

"Shut up." Came Dan's muffled reply from the bedroom.

Phil chuckled and poked his head round the corner, jerking away instantly and covering his face as Dan's boxers wiggled in the air - black jeans slipping down his thighs - as he bent to scoop feathers from behind the drawer. Guiltily, Phil peeked through his fingers, eyes widening at the sight of Dan's arse straining against the soft fabric. Dan straightened up suddenly with the dustpan and brush and Phil jerked away, blushing furiously, praying to God he hadn't noticed.

"They're fucking everywhere!" Dan groaned.

Phil uncovered his face again and burst into laughter at Dan's disgruntled expression. "You've er you've got a few feathers in your hair there." Phil sniggered.

Dan glowered as he stalked past him to the dustbin. "Aren't you supposed to be cooking?" He grumbled.

"I'm on to it." Phil giggled, following Dan into the hall.

Dan spun round suddenly, launching the pile of feathers into Phil's startled face. "Oh sorry, I tripped." He snickered. "That's for being a bitch. Now come help me _please_ and I'll cook you a nice romantic meal I promise!"

Phil laughed as he tried to shake the feathers out of his dark hair. "Dan are you feeling okay? 'Romantic'? And pillow fights? You know, for a straight guy you can be _really_ camp sometimes." He teased.

Dan held his gaze for a moment without saying anything, unblinking. He pulled his eyes away suddenly and strode down the hall. "Don't get your hopes up Lester I'm not going to be your whore anytime soon. Come help me clear up."

Phil sighed. The words had been on the tip of his tongue but as usual they had slipped away, floating out of his mouth without a sound.

* * *

A lone candle illuminated the kitchen, casting long shadows on the walls. Phil gazed into its glowing heart as it danced in the darkness, swelling and diminishing with the draft.

"I can't believe you actually used candles. You're such a tart." He grinned, glancing up at Dan on the other side of the table. Dan's face was hidden in shadow that seeped out from his tousled fringe; but his dark eyes glinted, reflected the candle light with a flash that made Phil catch his breath. He looked different; mysterious somehow. Brooding and inexplicable.

_Dangerous._

Phil's eyes drank in Dan's face as it flickered in the candle light. Harsh shadows contoured and defined his usually soft features, creating an edge to his features that sent delicious shivers of fear down Phil's spine. His hand – resting on the table – clenched suddenly, bronze skin bathed in yellow light. His eyes hadn't left the flame, casting a glimmering glow over the empty plates and burnt out candles.

Phil tore his eyes away from Dan and lapsed back into silence, trying to comprehend the unknown figure that sat in front of him.

"Phil."

His voice was low and soft, seeming to blend into the shadows from which it came.

Phil looked up immediately, his heart racing.

"Yes?" His voice came out higher than usual and he cursed himself silently, glad Dan couldn't see his flushed face in the darkness.

"Phil." Dan said again.

His russet eyes stared steadily across the table. Turned towards Phil he was better illuminated; a wordless strain clearly visible across his face to his chapped lips. As Phil stared wide eyed he caught a glint of anger echoed across Dan's eyes, tinged with something else. A deep sadness, maybe. Knowledge that hurt.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. There's something I have to do. Something I've put off for - for too long. That's why I made a fuss with the dinner, Phil. I wanted to... to say goodbye."

"Wha– are you going away?! Where? Why? I – How long?" Phil's voice was definitely too high now, and with a rising air of panic.

Dan rose out of his chair and moved around the table in one swift motion, bring his hand to catch Phil's face and bring it close to his own. "Where I can't tell you. Why, well, there's a few reasons. One of them is... is..." His voice was desperate, dark eyes mournful and longing in Phil's, their faces so close they grazed against each other. "Because I love you. Phil Lester. But I can't." He brought his lips crashing down on Phil's, moving them urgently against his mouth, their hot, ragged breath mingling in the crush of skin. Dan broke away suddenly, breathing heavily, his soft eyes tortured and burning. "Shit."

And then, he was gone.

Phil stood alone in the kitchen. The last drip of wax slipped away and the candle flickered and died. Though the darkness, Phil heard the front door close.

"You didn't say how long." He whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

The shrill trill of the phone woke Phil with a start from his fitful slumber. He reached automatically to respond and groaned as he rolled over on the cold tiles. He hadn't moved from the spot Dan left him in, only collapsing to the ground when he grew too tired to stand. And now he was bruised, cold, stiff and aching - not just on the outside.

He fumbled for the mobile; his raw, dry eyes struggling to make out the glowing symbols.

"Hello?" His voice echoed around the empty flat, alien and detached from his body.

"Phil?" PJ's voice was cautious, lilting at the end to form a question - as though unsure what he would find on the other end of the line.

Phil let out a low breath. He'd been so sure it would be Dan. "Hey Peej."

His voice was hoarse and ragged. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered dimly that this was probably due to crying, although he didn't remember doing any.

"Are you... How are you?"

Phil didn't reply.

"Um... I just phoned to tell you that Dan stopped by last night."

Phil blinked, shaking his head to try and clear it and pacing the room. "What - what happened? What did he want? Is he still there? Can I come round? I-" The urgency and desperation in Phil's voice was clear, but he was cut short as he spotted a photo of Dan on the mantelpiece seized it with a low groan.

"No he's not here anymore he left again, he just rang on the doorbell and asked to speak to me..." PJ trailed off.

"Tell me exactly what happened. Did he seem normal - did he seem like himself?" Phil was turning the photo over and over in his hands, pacing frantically back and forth across the dimly lit kitchen.

"He just told me he was going away. He seemed... not upset so much as determined. Kinda grim as well. Like he was off to... I dunno. He left his phone with me but he had another one - it wasn't like any phone I've seen before though. He wrote down the number and told me it was vital that I only call it for two reasons and nothing else."

"Yes?! What were the two things? Tell me his exact words!"

"I don't know if I should, he told me not to give it to anyone else and..."

Phil let out a strangled yelp. "Just tell me! _Please_. I need to know Peej."

"Phil..." He heard PJ sigh over the crackle of the phone. "Okay. If you're sure. He just said: 'Don't ring this number. I don't care if it's an emergency or if the world's about to end. You have to forget me. Only ring it if Phil gets a girlfriend or if he dies; because then..."

"Then what?" Phil's voice was deadpan. The sinking feeling in his gut told him he already knew the answer.

"I won't be coming home."

Phil slipped silently to the floor. His voice was barely a whisper. "Then what did he do?"

"He asked if he could change in my bathroom. He left the clothes he came in here and put on some black leathers I've never seen him wear before. Then he left. He didn't say goodbye. He just walked out of the door, got on a motorbike and drove away."

There was silence for a moment except for the rhythmic ticking of the kitchen clock.

"I didn't know he could drive a motorbike." Phil said softly.

He traced the outline of Dan's laughing face with his finger.

"I think there's a lot of things we don't know about Dan Howell."


	3. Chapter 3

**i'm experimenting with a different style to try and get better at actually making stuff happen in my stories rather than just a lot of waffly description - it's influenced quite heavily but a series i read when i was younger that had a lot of action in it and i really wanna know if you think it works or not :P**

* * *

"Did you say he left on a motorbike?" Dan's mother's voice was suddenly sharp.

"That's right Mrs Howell." Phil tried to keep his tone casual, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the chair.

"He won't be coming back. Please don't contact us again."

The line went dead.

* * *

"Maybe we should call him?" Phil mumbled for the fiftieth time.

Chris sighed, running his fingers through his tangled hair. "We've been through this. That's a last resort. He said on the note that if we did he'd throw the phone away so we couldn't contact him at all, so that's the last thing we want to do."

"Still no luck with his parents?"

"Not since ten minutes ago no." Said Chris patiently.

Phil huffed as he fell backwards on the beanbag. "Sorry. I'm probably driving you crazy. I'm just so... lost without him. I don't understand. We were - we _are_ best friends. We don't have any secrets."

"It's okay. We know how you feel, we miss him too. I'm gonna go and see if we've had a reply about the bike's licence plate okay?" Chris reached forwards to smile and grip Phil's shoulder reassuringly as he pulled himself up off the carpet.

Dan cupped his hands under the tap and splashed tepid water over his face, glancing up at his reflection in the cracked mirror. He ran his hands roughly over the straw coloured stubble that now covered his scalp, shaved brutally with a cheap razor and bleached shoddily. His wrecked Nikes and oil stained jeans hung loosely off his skinny figure and he tried to slap some colour into his pale face; rubbing at the dark shadows under his eyes. With a sigh he grabbed a black leather jacket and slipped it over his arms as he bolted downstairs. He took his keys and mobile from a bowl by the front door and keyed in a simple code to access the phone's hidden inbox. _0 messages_. Of course, it was all he'd asked for.

So why did he still feel that wrench in his heart every time he realised how easily they'd let him go.

* * *

The black motorbike rumbled angrily into silence as he slipped off the seat and kicked the stand out to chain it to a post. His stomach was churning as he wiped his sweaty palms on his jacket, staring nervously down the road. Surreptitiously he checked his plastic wristwatch. They were late.

Dan paced back and forth to block out the cold, nerves threatening to get the better of him but a rush of adrenalin kicked in as he heard familiar roar of the Boss's Mercedes. It growled into the cul-de-sac, skimming past the fancy houses before crunching up the gravel drive. The blacked out windows and fat tires were menacing as it bore down on Dan standing awkwardly on the pavement. Dan recognised the three men as he grabbed a rear door on the passenger side. The Boss was in the driving seat, short and poisonous with his miniature moustache and slick black hair. The front passenger was Brute, a long term biker and associate who'd never actually joined the gang. In the back was Dirt. Bald and with a thick yellow moustache he owned half the strip clubs in Manchester.

"Morning all," Dan said as he lowered himself on to the tan leather.

He spluttered as he was shoved straight back out by Dirt. "What's on your back?" He barked angrily.

Dan panicked as he realised he was still wearing his biker jacket. It bore the patch of the Outlaws, worn and faded after so many years in a box stashed innocently under his bed.

"Wear your patch in a car," The Boss growled, shaking his head contemptuously as he reached under the dashboard and pulled a lever to open the boot. "Shit for brains."

For outlaw bikers the coloured insignia on the back of their jackets was sacred. They often travelled in cars, but it was against the rules to wear your club patch while travelling on more than two wheels.

Dan backed up and jogged to the rear of the car. The interior of the boot was huge. There was a large nondescript black box fixed with a heavy padlock that Dan eyed apprehensively next to two leather Outlaw jackets folded lovingly so that the patches were on display. More significantly Dan noticed two baseball bats, a pair of crowbars and a cricket bag bulging with guns and ammunition boxes.

"Let's go make money!" Brute said cheerfully as Dan slammed the door and the huge alloy tires spun on the gravel.

* * *

Phil woke with a start bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily. The dream had been vivid. It was more than a dream, it was a memory. How had he forgotten? The first time he met Dan. Only it wasn't Dan. It was a boy called Joe, with short blonde hair hacked mercilessly away with a pair of scissors. A small boy, lost and alone in Manchester city. A runaway.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm experimenting with a different style to try and get better at actually making stuff happen in my stories rather than just a lot of waffly description - it's influenced quite heavily but a series i read when i was younger that had a lot of action in it and i really wanna know if you think it works or not :P**

* * *

The peeling Chinese restaurant at the end of the dingy alley was two stories high and seemed to lean precariously over the grey street. It would be packed out come the evening, but at 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon the only customers were a young German couple cocooned in a romantic bubble as they shared a plate of noodles.

"Service!" The Boss boomed as he burst through the doors. "Wing, stop frying those rats and get your filthy ass out here!"

Dan was last through the swinging doors, clenching his fists nervously. He hung silently in the background, keeping his eyes averted from the terrified Germans.

Wing was short, with his straight black hair tied in a ponytail and a striped apron around his waist. He smiled as the Boss, but his body language made it clear he was the last person Wing wanted to see.

The Boss turned towards Dan. "Joe, get the security tape." He barked.

As Dan slouched towards the service counter Dirt stepped up to the young couple. The girl looked at her boyfriend. He was chunky, going for the lumberjack look with a plaid shirt and sweater, but he'd never thrown a punch in his life.

"I don't want trouble." The German said in stilted English as he raised his hands.

Dirt stopped half a step shy of the table. The Germans recoiled as he reached over and rammed a piece of fried chicken into his mouth.

"Tasty." He said, nodding as he chewed.

The female glanced anxiously at her man. Dan spoke no German but it didn't take a genius to translate _let's get the hell out of here._

Dirt reached towards his trousers suddenly. The German flinched, thinking he was going for a weapon, but instead he hooked his fingers around his belt loops and yanked down his jeans. The woman shot back from the table screaming as Dirt advanced towards them, sneering. "How's about some English sausage?"

The male took a twenty from his wallet and threw it at the table, before grabbing his girlfriend and sprinting out the door.

"Aww, come on baby," Dirty Dave shouted as he waddled after them with his filthy jeans around his knees. "Why play so hard to get?"

Brute and the Boss howled with laughter as Dan stepped behind the counter. Amidst the dishes and beer kegs was a dilapidated security recorder. Dan pulled out the VHS and held it in the air. "Got the tape, Boss," He called, trying the qualm the sick feeling in his stomach.

"Don't leave it behind." The Boss ordered, before turning to Wing was a sarcastic grin. "Why the sour face?" he teased.

"How can I pay you when you throw out my customers?" Wing shouted furiously.

The Boss laughed. "Two customers makes a difference? You had this place heaving all last summer. You owe me three weeks. That's eight hundred."

"Four fifty." Wing corrected.

"Price shoots up when you don't pay me." The Boss snarled menacingly, before grabbing Wing's apron.

"I can't pay so much in winter!" Wing squirmed. "You see how many customers I have!"

The boss pulled his face close to Wings, his hot, rancid breath on his pale skin. "These old wooden buildings burn very easily you know." He said in a low, menacing voice. "Now I want you and your wife upstairs and quiet, we got a little... business to attend to and we thought we'd borrow your _lovely_ accommodation for a while. My boy Joe here will look after you."

* * *

Dan kept his head low as he ushered Wing's shaking body into the other room, collecting a young woman cowering in the doorway and pushing them up the narrow staircase.

The woman was pale and slender, clutching her husband and breathing rapidly.

"Calm down okay?" Dan said nervously. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Wing led her towards a low wooden chair and rubbed her back calmingly, chewing his lower lip.

"What are they doing down there?" He spat at Dan.

"Business deal." Dan grunted, pacing the small room.

Wing came over towards Dan and eyed him sceptically.

"Your name's Joe, right?"

"Yeah...?" Said Dan, defensively.

Wing said nothing for a second and then turned back to his wife. "You just don't seem like one of them." He crouched down beside her and took her hand in his. "You don't even have a 'biker name.' I'd have thought a young lad like you would be itching to pick a thug identity. Something impressive sounding." He rested his head against her lap as she sobbed quietly into his hair. "But you've just gone for 'Joe' which is about as impressive as our fried chicken."

Dan stared intently at the concrete floor, scuffing at the dirt. "I'm not - I mean I wasn't, I – I don't know. I'm not one of them. Not really. But... sometimes it's a choice between something bad, and something worse. For me, it wasn't an easy choice. But then I was part of a gang. And things were okay for a while. Now it's a bit more complicated." He blinked, reaching up to adjust his hair automatically but pausing halfway as he remembered that it was all gone. "The only thing that matters right now though is that you two stay out of the way. Because anything could happen now."

* * *

XXX

* * *

Phil lay back in bed, shivering, and closed his eyes – trying to remember the dream.

_His head is swimming and the streetlamps and car headlights seem to blur into one another, twisting and twirling into the black night. He takes a few steps forward but misjudges and stumbles, catching himself on a wall that suddenly looms in front of him. He presses his flushed face against the cool brick and waits for his head to stop spinning, sinking into the shadows at the side of the street. _

_He groans quietly. His phone is gone, along with his wallet. He blinks, trying to focus on the street around him for anything he recognises. A chill wind sweeps up a side street and a shiver runs down his spine. Aside from the low hum of traffic the night is eerily quiet. And Philip Lester is lost and alone. _

_His first year at uni, the parties are both insanely exciting and terrifying at the same time. This one had been more of the latter; trying to fit in with his new roommates he'd followed them out to a club on the other side of town. Only, in the throng of people he'd lost the familiar figures and disappeared into the crowd of faceless, moving bodies. Come closing-time he'd staggered out into the street and struck blindly for home. And now he stares around at the blank walls and tall buildings – each identical to the next in the grim darkness. The only shape to break the monotony of the skyline is the tapered spire of a church. His stomach heaves and his body trembles visibly now, and he realises how vulnerable and helpless he is. Cautiously, he staggers towards the building. As he draws closer he sees that the door is ajar, orange light streaming out into the cold. A sign pinned to the wood reads simply _'SAFE'_. Underneath, a handwritten message: '_We provide a safe haven between the hours of 11pm and 3am free of charge for anyone who finds themselves alone at night.'

_Phil rests a trembling hand on the heavy doors and pushes, expecting a foul hall full of homeless and drunk sleeping in the pews. Instead, he is greeted with the smell of baking bread and the low buzz of sleepy chatter. A small mismatch of people sit in armchairs around a fireplace, sipping soup. As he slips in the door an elderly man in black robes looks up and smiles, making his way over to usher Phil into the warmth. Without a word of question a bowl of soup and a tall glass of water are pushed into his hands, a blanket draped over his shoulders as he is steered towards a low sofa. He sits down unsteadily next to a small, frail looking boy hunched miserably over his food. _

_He takes a cautious sip of water. Instantly his head clears with gratitude at the refreshing moisture and the pounding dims. He turns to the lean figure._

_'Hi, what's your name?'_

_There is silence for a minute. The boy does not look up._

_'Joe.'_

_Phil is still light headed from the drink, a stupid grin plastered across his soft face._

_'Don't be sad Joe!'_

_The boy tenses, then slowly raises his head. His dark eyes bore into Phil's with an intensity that freezes him to the sofa._

_'Then what should I be?'_

_His voice is soft, devoid of emotion._

_'Who should I be? Where should I go?'_

_Phil is still frozen with his mouth slightly open. He has no answers to these questions._

_'I thought so.'_


End file.
